


im begging you to keep on haunting me

by PunchSystem



Category: Fight Club (1999)
Genre: Choking, Dry Humping, Fight Sex, M/M, Pining, lowkey, nearly 20 years later and narrator and durden are still hella fucking gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 19:19:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14361927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunchSystem/pseuds/PunchSystem
Summary: But every good high is ending sometime, and when you crash back into reality, with whiplash and all, (most Insurance Scammers never report whiplashes, broken bones and head wounds are more common) your hunger turns into something far more vulgar.





	im begging you to keep on haunting me

**Author's Note:**

> holla at my friend who beat me to finish this because im procrastinating on 2 many things already

Nearly half a year later and you fell back into the daily trott of going to work **skip** watching TV **skip** order something you wanted to have since you were eleven **skip** and throwing it into the corner a week later. 

**skip**

The sleepless nights turned worse when Marla left. 

Now the Alarm Clock started to sing a song of insomnia and the itch in your fingers you tried so hard to still with everything else but bruises and a punch to your throat comes slowly creeping back.

Marla couldn't live with that and you couldn't live with it either, but only one of you could ignore the hunger that grew deep next to your heart ache, vibrating into every cell of your body, taking and taking and taking until she left for good, leaving you alone in the newly fulfilled IKEA dream apartment.

So he came back.

The back of his head was still blown, the tank top with different porno covers still way to tight for the good fashionable man in the 1990s and the smell of nitroglycerin around him, forcing its way into your nose even technically it wasn't even there.

He didn't talk though. Usually he was watching from the sidelines, silently observing you going about your every day struggle of killing the numbness and staying awake. Was it pity? Why didn't he leave? Degrade you? _Anything_? You consider beating yourself up, just like in your Bosses Office, just like you did for months without noticing, but the shame you feel when you realize your desperation for something else in this miserable monotone life was what started all of this, is enough for you to consider against it. 

Tyler stayed. Listening in to boring Co-Worker Conversations, probably judging, probably waiting.

Your hunger shifted.

Before you wanted to feel, punish yourself for being a desperate bitch like Marla called you. But now?

"This isn't any different." Tyler says. You stare at him in shock, euphoria filling your lungs; the numbness draining.

.

He was gone a few moments after saying these four words that crushed your world afterwards. Sleep came lightly, but still short. The new Job at the new Grey Firm with the Name you can't remember went by faster and your dick wasn't as limp anymore when you tried to fuck yourself to sleep.

But every good high is ending sometime, and when you crash back into reality, with whiplash and all, ( _most Insurance Scammers never report whiplashes, broken bones and head wounds are more common_ ) your hunger turns into something far more vulgar.

More vulgar than Marlas strap-on and her request to play dead after she entered with knee-high leather boots and a corset from a thrift shop. That memory still pays you weekly visits when you got your fingers in your ass, pretending they are Tylers.

You need a new fix. Something to make up for this life you didn't intentionally choose, got thrown into like a live animal in a lions cage. Eat or be eaten. Fuck or be fucked. Take or be robbed and left in a dirty alley two street corners away from the nearest police station. Drugs will always be disgusting to you, but you know that someone else comes close to the addiction. Something worse than nicotine and yet only as self-destructive as you want it to be. This time, you promise yourself, you have everything under control.

So, your vicious next time you see him, you insult him like he is one of the leftover Space Monkeys you met on your new business trips, as they pretended the Fight Club was still up and going and the savior of the people. But nothing you say, nothing you _do_ makes him talk. He doesn't even blink when you spit in his face. 

You still don't have the upper hand.

 _Who cares?_

So after screaming and kicking and crying you land on your knees. It's like the Testicular Cancer Support Group all over again. Bob all over again. Only now you never felt so pathetic, grabbing his belt with your face pressed against his thigh, creating a wet, disgusting snort spot.

You're begging.

And after a few traumatic minutes, when you calmed down and you realize how far you've sunken again, he is petting your head. His hand wanders under your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

"See? That's all you are without me." And with that your Head snaps to the side, but you don't even feel the pain. 

"You blew my brains out." He throws himself on your chest and you manage to groan, half pain, half shock, a tiny bit of relief.

"Everything. Everything we did. _I_ did. And for what?" He slams a fist into your throat and you're choking as your Adams Apple presses against your Uvula. You grind up, savoring the moment, you're probably still babbling something too, but everything is tuned out. Everything but Tyler.

"She left you. Marla Singer left you because not even she could keep up with your kind of crazy." Tyler laughs and leans back. Air is something your Body needs desperately now, but you're not your Body. You're nothing. You're Jacks lacking sense of morals.

Again, you grind against his ass sitting right on top of your dick as you're still choking.

"I should take these and shove it up your ass." he says and grabs your balls. It's terrifying. You should run. Like you did when your Veins had battery acid in them, but instead you agree, pray to him. He became a cruel God, you gave birth to him and now he is hanging with blood soaken fists above you as you await judgment. His Throne is your Body and your mind is his shrine. You wish you were that poetic when you visited Chloes Grave.

"Please-" you croak and you're not sure what you're asking for. 

" █████." he calls you. "Beg harder." It doesn't make sense and the last piece of conscience tells you that he is not real, _your_ words don't make any sense, the warm blood that curls under your chin is the only real thing in the room next to your aching dick that grinds up against nothing.

You don't beg anymore. _You worship._

When you come, your tears stop rolling and your half lidden eyes fixate on the new shiny example of mankind. 

Tyler rises and eyes you back.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, you've reached rock bottom." He lights a cigarette and offers you a hand.

" _Stay down this time._ "


End file.
